


Clandestine Museum Rendez-Vous

by dont_rainonmyparade



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q writing meme, Five Minute Drabble, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_rainonmyparade/pseuds/dont_rainonmyparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bond has taken Q to the National Gallery. And the National Portrait Gallery. And the Tate Modern. And the Museum of Natural History. And the Tate Britain. And the V&A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One with the Hat

**Author's Note:**

> Written 14 November 2015: Meant to do this sooner but my flatmates and I and our neighbours were up watching the news until maybe six am last night, and I just couldn’t, with everything, but I really do appreciate being tagged! Don’t ask me what this is, but there is more to this story, which may eventually see the light of day.
> 
> Rules: Use five minutes and only five to write a quick drabble. No editing, just upload.

“Bond, I swear on all that is good in this world, if you insist on a clandestine rendez-vous at even one more museum, I will do something…” Q gestures abstractly, as if he is strangling something invisible, and bounces on his heels. “…desperate.”

One of Bond’s eyebrows flies up, and Q pretends not to notice. “It’s the Museum of London, Q, do at least try and pretend to have an appreciation for the finer things in this life – thinly-veiled patriotism being one of those things.“ He folds his hands, pretending to study the relic before them. “But how desperate?” he asks, almost as an afterthought.

Q harrumphs, a harsh sound blown out through his nose, making no effort to conceal his vexation. “I would eat my hat,” he bites out stiffly.

“You don’t own a hat.” It’s an observation.

“Then I’ll eat your hat.”

“I don’t own a hat,” Bond deadpans.

“Somebody in this city must own a bloody – “

Bond gasps softly, having rarely heard his Quartermaster swear. “Q!” he exclaims, elbowing him gently to make him to mind himself as they attract stares from curious, shocked tourists. So much for his clandestine rendez-vous.

Q growls impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other.

A moment of silence passes between them, and they stare at the opulently-decorated coach of the Lord Mayor on display in the gallery. Suddenly, Bond turns to Q. “Would you really?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

Q looks at him sceptically. “Would I really what?”

“Eat my hat, of course.”

“James!” It’s a chastisement. Q looks at Bond indignantly.

The man with a license to kill begins to giggle, looking enthusiastic enough about something to make Q properly worried. “I’ll make you eat my hat,” Bond snickers, his blue eyes flashing with amusement.

Q throws up his hands, and stalks away, muttering all the while about fashion sense, why he even bothers, good riddance, and all of the goddamned bloody museums in London.


	2. The One at the Tate Modern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q learns the reason why Bond never followed a course in art history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so it turns out that I did play with this some more. Let me know what you think - come and find me on Tumblr, let's chat about these crazies. @emsdispatch

“Bond, what are we doing here?”

“Shh.”

“Bond!”

“Hush, Q.”

Q grumbles, and crosses his arms, none too thrilled with the way James has turned away from him dismissively. The double-oh appears to be studying the painting as though it were a puzzle box to open up – though Q is skeptical. Usually when Bond gets this look on his face, the puzzle box will shortly be smashed.

Q wonders, not for the first time, what Bond was thinking when he had asked his Quartermaster along for a day out. In true MI-6 style, the invitation had been encrypted into the latest version of a set of blueprints Q had been working on. 

The Quartermaster wonders vaguely which of his minions Bond had bribed to do such a thing.

Bond puts his hands in his pockets, and sighs, turning back to Q. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Where do you fancy having dinner?”

Q blinks, not sure if he’s following. “Bond, we’ve been here for all of five minutes – at least two minutes of which we spent climbing stairs up to the galleries.”

Double-oh-seven nods again, noncommittally. “Right, so, where do you fancy having dinner?”

To say that Q is confused is an understatement. “Bond, we’ve only looked at one painting!”

“And I’ve decided that modern art is not for me,” the double-oh says matter-of-factly, shifting his weight and folding his arms. “I mean, what is this? Haphazard splashes of paint, and handprints? I could do this.” He turns, squinting at the piece again. “In fact,” he murmurs, “I may have done this. In primary school.”

“Q,” he says distractedly, “Why don’t you run a check on this artist, see if he’s associated at all with plagiarising the work of children in primary school?”

Q’s eyes widen. “Bond,” he hisses, stepping toward the painting with some reverence. “This is a Miró,” he exclaims, gesturing dramatically, and from his tone, he might be speaking about the work of God. “Miró was an internationally acclaimed artist. He did not plagiarise your primary school finger painting.”

Bond squints at his Quartermaster. “How can you be so sure? The least remarkable suspects are often the most at fault.”

Q sighs, shaking his head in dismissal. Bond is a lost cause. “You’re right. It’s time to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr, let's chat about these two! emsdispatch.tumblr.com


End file.
